Your Banshee, My Muse
by dgschneider
Summary: Sometimes strange things happen, lights flicker, TV channels change on their own, the flame of a candle flares up or waves as if there's a breeze blowing when there is none. What do these strange occurrences mean? A banshee? A muse? Booth and Brennan explore this very topic which becomes a way to move their relationship past that blasted line. Set in season 6 after Blizzard episode


I got this idea awhile ago from the wonderful conversations with my dear friend Givesup. So, this is for her to celebrate her, her talent, and all the many wonderful things that still await her in life :)

I owe special thanks to Dharmamonkey for her help. I had dug myself a pretty deep hole and buried myself in so many facts and information regarding Celtic/Gaelic folk lore. Her advice helped me sort it all out :) And special thanks also to Craftyjhawk who unwittingly has become a mediator between my muse and me lol and Snowybones who is always ready to help me hogtie and duck tape my muse and make her produce

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In the dim light of his apartment, as a blizzard raged outside, they scribbled out their hopes and sealed their wishes in flames by candlelight - together.

The truth she couldn't speak that night was that she was already strong enough. She had been for quite some time. But, she knew that Booth wasn't ready, that his metaphorical marks from Hannah hadn't worn off yet. She knew that he needed more time. So she waited, grateful for the time with him, for the hope of a second chance to be with the man who she knew she loved.

At first it was just his hand resting comfortably in the small of her back, where it belonged. Something she had missed more than she could have ever anticipated. Then it was more frequent lunches at the diner and take-out dinners at one of their places. And time—time after work and on the weekends. Time to be together.

Slowly, the world was righting itself.

oo0oo

"Did you see that, Bones?" Booth nearly jumped out of his skin trying to get her attention.

Alarmed, she looked frantically out the windows of the SUV trying to see what startled him. It had been raining all day and showed no signs of stopping. As they drove through downtown, she saw streaks of street lights spread out over the wet pavement, people crammed under umbrellas walking on the sidewalk, blurry business signs glowing, but nothing that seemed out of place.

"Did I see what, Booth? I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

"That street light. You didn't see the light flash on and off when we went under it? Seriously?"

She was confused by his intensity. He sounded excited by what he'd seen but she had so clearly missed. She couldn't help but take him seriously.

"Oh," she paused briefly replaying the details of the last few seconds in her mind. "No," she said definitively.

"I can't believe that, Bones. It's happened the last three nights in a row! That's just freaky, right? Gives me goose bumps." He was so animated and he kept looking over at her waiting for, well, she wasn't sure what he was waiting for. "How could you miss it every time?" A childlike wonder and disbelief danced through his playful tone.

"I don't know, Booth. I'm sure that those kinds of small electromagnetic pulses happen frequently. I suppose I just ignore them." She was often amused by the stock Booth put into seemingly routine and completely explainable events as some kind of sign from the universe. He could be so superstitious. "You seem awfully upset by it, Booth. Are you afraid that there is some hidden meaning in the flicker of street lights?"

"I'm not upset by it, Bones, but don't you think it's weird that it's happening to me all the time? Kind of spooky, right?"

"No, I wouldn't say that." Her mind made connections very quickly, faster than most. One thought bounced at light-speed to another pulling up catalogs of facts and information gleaned from her years of study. "Although…" She hesitated for just a moment, tickled by a mischievous thought. "If I were you and I were superstitious, which you are, then I might think that I was being haunted by a banshee."

"A banshee? Thanks, Bones. Don't they hang around people right before someone dies? Are you saying that someone close to me is going to die?"

"No, Booth, I don't personally believe that those kinds of myths hold any real power and, besides the legend of banshees that I am talking about predates more modern interpretations. This legend comes from ancient Celtic lore. The word 'banshee' comes from the phrase _'bean sidhe'_ which literally means 'female elf' or 'faerie.' It is believed that when a person commits an act of disloyalty or hatefulness towards their female counterpart that the '_bean sidhe_' will punish the offender until they have righted the wrong. The torment will continue until the banshee has driven the offender mad unto death unless they do something to make it right. Technically, the legends of the banshee or_ bean sidhe_ have their origins in legend of_ Tuatha de Danu_ which were believed to be the first children of the gods and pure magic. The more modern adaptations would include the belief that the presence of a banshee is what's causing the disturbance in the electromagnetic fields. It is her presence, her energy, that causes the lights to flicker. She may also cause other strange electrical occurrences like the TV channels to change on their own or a fire to unexplainable flare up or some appliance to turn on or off unexpectedly."

"Thanks, Bones, so you're saying I have wronged a woman and now I'm going to be haunted until I make it right or I go mad and die? That's very comforting."

"I don't know that I would call it comforting, Booth."

It never ceased to amaze him how, even after all these years of working together, sarcasm still was so completely lost on her. He loved that about her. It made him smile.

"I didn't mean that it was actually comforting, Bones. I was being sarcastic."

He pulled up to the curb next to her apartment building and stopped the truck. He wasn't ready for the night to end. More and more he found himself in this place with her; caught between not wanting to leave and not being sure he was ready to stay. He didn't want to risk moving forward before they were ready. There was too much at stake.

"Oh." He watched as she tried to process his response as a sarcastic one. "Oh, okay," she said. "I understand. You don't really find it comforting." He nodded in agreement.

"Let me walk you up," he offered as he took the keys from the ignition, grabbed his umbrella, hopped out of the truck, and came around to her side. She gathered up her belongings and hopped down out of the truck. Huddled under the umbrella, water dripping from its pointy peaks, they headed towards her building.

She had a hard time containing the catch in her breath when she felt the warmth of his hand as it pressed lightly into the small of her back. She wanted to roll into it, into him, into his arms. It was almost irresistible. And when Booth moved his hand to shake out the umbrella and close it she found it hard to wait for its return and the security that came with it. They had worked their way through the lobby and up to her floor and then to her door before she realized she didn't want him to go. She didn't want his hand to slip from her back as he said goodbye for the night. She didn't want to watch as he and turned to walk away. So, at the door she stopped before turning her key.

She straightened and turned to him so quickly that he didn't have a chance to adjust to her movements. They ended up unbearably close as he caught her arms to steady her. She felt his warm breath on her ear, his scruffy stubble as it grazed her cheek. She could barely breathe.

"Come in," she whispered because she didn't have enough air for anything louder. She didn't even have a reason prepared. No looming paperwork to do together, no case to discuss. Her mind sought frantically for an excuse for him to stay. As it turned out she didn't need one. He accepted before she had to justify her invitation. Turning back to the door, she finished unlocking and opening it. After they tumbled through the entry way and got rid of all their coats and bags, it was easier to regain control.

"Do you want something to drink?"

She tried to sound calm and collected, friend-like. Routine took over and pretty soon all the wild desire she had been feeling fell back behind the laughter of two old friends.

They were making plans for the weekend when the lamp beside them flickered and went out leaving them in a very dimly lit room. The softer light created a glowing rim around her, highlighting her auburn curls. It looked so silky, he couldn't resist. Reaching out slowly, he brushed it back off her shoulder letting it slide over the back of his hand.

"Looks like my banshee followed me up to your place."

She smirked and with a rather smug grin she retorted, "No, that isn't your banshee. If it's anything, it would be my muse."

"What? Your muse? I thought you didn't believe in all that superstitious stuff," he chided her.

"I don't. But_ if_ I were to believe it, I would believe that the random electrical surges that take place in my apartment from time to time are the work of my _spiorad na cruthaitheachta_ or muse." She paused for a moment to take a sip of her wine. "Very much like a banshee but the muse brings creativity and enlightenment."

She looked so satisfied in her definition. He picked up her hand, fiddled with her fingers.

"A muse doesn't sound anything like a banshee, Bones."

"Well, according to legend, they're both what you would call spirits."

He stared straight into those beautiful eyes he'd always found so bewitching.

"Yeah, I see how it goes. I get a banshee, haunting me until I go mad and die. You get a muse and another New York Times bestseller. Thanks, Bones."

As if to punctuate the moment, right as the statement left his lips, the light came back on. They both stared at each other, eyes wide in surprise, then collapsed into the couch laughing. Among the continued giggles, deep breaths and sighs, her head fell on his shoulder. His hand still held hers. They lingered in the moment, and a quietness fell over them. Rain pounded on the windows and roof. He raised their joined hands slightly, looking intently at them hovering in the air, then brought them back down to his lap.

Startled by a flash of lightning and the clap of thunder that quickly followed, she jumped, wiggling her fingers out of his to light some candles.

"So, how do I get rid of it?" he asked. Trying to keep the conversation light, he watched her intently as she move around the room lighting candles.

"According to legend?"

"Yeah, according to legend."

"Well, you have to perform a truly selfless act of kindness or show devotion towards the person you offended. _But_, according to legend, if you are performing the act just to get rid of the banshee, it will only make the haunting worse."

She settled herself back down on the couch, this time angled so she could see his face. She paused, looking him in the eye, clearly enjoying herself. "_Or_ you can perform an ancient ritual to capture and dispose of the spirit." Her eyes were bright, her smile content, one eyebrow cocked in anticipation of his response.

This had started out like many of their other conversations, a beautiful banter, a playful volley of opinion and fact. She was still in that place, but he wasn't. Before he could catch himself he was fingering a small piece of hair that had come loose of her ponytail, he tucked it carefully behind her ear. His hand lingered, his knuckles rubbed softly up and down her neck several times before his hand opened skimming lightly over her cheek. He watched as she yielded to his touch, her eyes fell closed. The rise and fall of her chest reflected her short shallow breaths. Then she leaned almost involuntarily into his palm. She was a vision, the vision of everything he'd wanted for so long. Another flash of lightning. The lights flickered, went dim, then went out completely, leaving them with only the candles she'd lit moments before.

He pulled her in, wrapping himself around her. It felt like an act of protection and she almost protested. After all, the storm was outside and they were safe inside her apartment. But, the feeling of being sheltered by him was so overwhelmingly wonderful that she couldn't resist, she melted into him.

"There's a story…"

She stuttered out the words almost nervously, an awkward attempt to pull the moment back to familiar ground. They'd held this invisible boundary for years, for so very long that the idea of crossing it had become overwhelming. It seemed like they took turns walking up to it, getting a little closer from time to time, then backing away. It was a big step, the one they were considering taking, though they knew they both wanted it, the when and the how were hard looming questions.

Booth stretched out a little, taking a drink of his scotch.

"I love stories."

She stretched out along his body, allowing her head to fall on his chest. In a most tentative move she reached across him, her hand fidgeting with his tie then smoothing it down his chest.

"Once there was a man named Farlyn. He came to Silver Mountain to woo the king's daughter into falling in love with him. Farlyn was cunning. The king thought he was honorable and true but all he really wanted was the King's crown, his lands, and power."

"Bastard." Booth added running his hand along Brennan's shoulder and back. He felt her body lose its stiffness, and she started to relax into him.

Lifting her head, she acknowledged him. "Yes, he was." She laid back on his chest and continued. "Shortly after the king announced that Farlyn would be the next ruler over the land and would marry his daughter, the king mysteriously died. Farlyn abandoned the princess leaving her with a broken heart. So broken that she ripped her own heart out of her chest and threw it into the icy depths of Silver Mountain."

"Oooooh." Booth's expression was pained as he reacted to the notion of the young princess ripping her own heart from her chest.

"It is believed that if a young woman is left too long in a state of grief from a broken heart, she attracts the banshee who then seeks out the offender. That is what happened here. Farlyn realized what he had done when the banshee wouldn't leave him alone. He went back to the princess to confess his love for her but found her cold and heartless."

Candlelight flickered, dancing around the room as she continued her story. The rain beat a steady rhythm in the background. Every once in awhile, lightning and thunder added their intensity to her tale. "His remorse for what he had done was real. He earnestly wanted to fix what he had broken. Farlyn set out on a quest to retrieve the princess' heart by searching the depths of Silver Mountain until he found it."

Booth was gently playing with her hair, smoothing it down her back, as she talked. She found herself almost lost in the feel of his touch. She fought to stay focused on her story.

"He was bringing the heart back to her. She heard the horrible commotion and came to her tower window where she saw him fighting off a pack of wolves. She ran to him but it was too late the wolves had killed him, he was dead. In trying to save him from the wolves, she was killed also."

"That's a horrible story, Bones."

"No, not really. It follows the constructs of most tales of the time and besides, I haven't finished the story yet, Booth. Here is the beautiful thing: the gods were so impressed by his act of sacrifice and her obvious forgiveness that they transformed them into a flower, a twin flower, so they would be together forever. The flower grows from one stem that branches into two, each one holding a tiny bloom. It's beautiful and delicate, white stained with just a bit of pink which is symbolic of their sacrifice."

It was silent for what seemed like forever until Booth spoke. "I think should get rid of that banshee that's following me." No longer playful, his tone was serious. He sat up, pulling her up with him. She turned to him so she could see his expression more fully. "I don't want to be like poor Farlyn." His eyes caught hers and stayed, fixed, firm in the direction he was taking the conversation. "I think I'd better fix it."

She held fast to the safety of facts, not sure where he was going, protesting the uncertainty of the path. "No, they're not real, Booth. Banshees aren't real." Her voice was soft and nervous. She'd been rendered breathless by what she saw in his eyes, his sudden shift in mood.

"Maybe, but you're real." His fingers slipped down, brushing lightly just below the delicate juncture of her collar bones. He could feel her heart pound. "I know I hurt you, Bones. I've made so many mistakes."

"We both have, you don't have to..."

He cut her off. "I do, I do have to. I need to say it and you need to hear it." Though he hadn't planned this confession he'd been thinking about it for a long time. Still, knowing where to start was difficult. "I'm sorry I pushed you, you know that night, after we talked to Sweets. I'm sorry I rushed you, sorry I didn't wait. I knew that you loved me, even then, that you just didn't have confidence in your ability to love. I should have waited for you."

"Booth." It never ceased to amaze him how she could say his name and in that one word give away exactly what she was feeling. It was loaded with emotion.

"No, Bones, listen. Even if I wasn't 100% then, I knew when we got back, when I saw you, when we met at the mall. I knew you were ready, that you wanted to tell me that you were ready, and I pushed it away, rationalized it. I brought up Hannah. I could have fixed things then but I chose the easy way out."

She was confused. "Easy?"

"Yeah, Bones. Hannah, she was easy. There was no work to that relationship, really. She didn't want anything to be complicated."

"I'm not easy." Stated as a matter-of-fact, but, he could hear the complicated emotions in her voice. A strange combination of self-awareness and shame.

"No, no you're not, but, that's one of the things I love most about you." He feared there was no way to convey to her how deeply he loved every complicated bit of her. No way to make her understand why what he felt for her was real and so much more than he had ever felt for anyone else. "Let me finish, okay? I've been thinking about this for a long time."

She nodded.

"You, you were amazing for me, for our partnership, our friendship. I feel awful about that, awful that I put you in that position." She tried to interrupt him, tried to explain that she shared in the responsibility. But, this was his confession. He wouldn't let her talk. He saw the tears puddling up in her eyes. Bringing her closer, he carefully wiped away the few that seemed to have escaped.

"You befriended her, in every way. I know that was hard. I saw it on your face, in your eyes, so many times and I didn't stop it." It was evident now. He watched her fight to maintain control, to_ not_ show rawness of the hurt she felt during that time. He pulled her into his arms she drew in a shuddered breath. "I know you did all those things for me."

"I told you I was angry, remember?" She nodded into his chest where she was tucked safely in under his chin. "Do you know why I was angry?" She didn't, he never talked about it other than the night of the blizzard when he told her he wasn't angry at her. "I was angry at myself, mostly, angry that I'd let that whole thing turn into such a horrible mess, that I'd hurt you. I had to sort it out, you know, I had to figure out how to fix it."

She pulled up and looked him dead in the eye.

"Are you still angry?"

It was a loaded question. He drifted towards her, too close for her to see him clearly. His lips brushed hers. They teased a nodded answer against hers before he verbalized it.

"No," he stated definitively, letting his lips finally fall on hers, pulling her into a kiss. It was light and short, just a beginning.

The feel of his lips on hers was vaguely familiar, like a dream from long ago. While she didn't believe in fate, she couldn't deny or explain that it all felt so natural. Like his lips had always been meant to be here on hers. She felt light-headed, dizzy. With each kiss and every touch she wanted more, more now, urgently. No longer capable of waiting she reached for his tie and the buttons on his shirt.

He'd always loved her hands. He could sit for hours and watch her hands as they carefully, respectfully held the bones of the dead, read them, listened to the stories they told, and gave them a voice. In all their years as partners, he had never seen her hands falter, never seen them fumble or shake until tonight. Reaching up between them he wrapped his larger, stronger hands around hers and held them tight. He stopped their efforts to unbutton his shirt.

"No." He was clear, but she was confused. Had she misinterpreted his words and actions? She thought he wanted this as much as she did. Suddenly embarrassed, she wanted to retreat, to run. She wiggled and pulled against him trying to get away but he held her tightly. "No, you don't understand." Still holding her hands firmly to his chest he continued. "Temperance, I want this, I want you, all of you, here, tonight, okay?"

As she gasped for air, she felt uneven shuddered breaths of passion, of fear, of love, all mixed together into emotions she couldn't understand or explain. "Okay," she whispered as she gave him a slight nod.

He slid both of her hands into one of his, still clutching them to his chest. Then lightly traced her lips with his fingers.

"I want to make love to you,Temperance. _I_ want to, _me_. Let me love you." He released her hands but when they went back to unbuttoning his shirt he gathered them up again. "No." She didn't understand, he could see it written clearly in her eyes. "Let me show you that I love you." He began kissing each finger carefully, telling her how much he loved those beautiful, delicate, strong hands of hers. She still looked confused and apprehensive.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me."

He smiled playfully. "Consider this my sacrifice." Gently he laid her hands down at her sides. "My show of true affection and love." Down her neck he kissed pulling the collar of her shirt to the side to continue his path. "Think of it as my ritualistic way of getting rid of the banshee." He threaded his fingers through hers and stood, pulling her up with him.

Finally finding her voice she spoke, "If it's just to get rid of the banshee..."

He cut her off with a hard kiss, crashing into her lips. "It's not," he whispered as he pulled away.

"If it's for me, shouldn't I get to be in control?" Her eyes sparkled with the prospect and a hint of defiance.

"No." He kissed her forehead. "No, because this is _my_ act of devotion." He smiled, so charming, it completely disarmed her.

She would never look at devotion the same way again. He was so careful with her, she marveled that someone so capable of inflicting injury, even of killing, could be so tender. Tender as he undressed them, as he took in every inch of her. Tender as he kissed and caressed her. Tender as he whispered his wonder to her.

"I can't believe I can finally kiss you here," he would say as his lips came to rest on her skin. "I have always wanted to touch you in this spot," he murmured as his finger lightly traced circles.

And then there moments where there were no words, just the sounds of two people overcome by the feeling of their bodies pressing together for the first time. The sounds of impatience as the desire to be closer became their mutual imperative. The sounds of fulfillment, oneness, of completeness until they collapsed trying desperately to catch their breath. They held fast to each other and their new reality.

He swept the hair from her face, carefully moving each little strand, he lay a simple kiss on her forehead accompanied by a simple confession.

"I love you, Bones, I always have, I always will."

"I love you too, Booth."

Words he thought he'd never hear. They both drifted off, wrapped in each other, listening to the soft drumming of the rain, content with what they had found on the other side of the line.

It was a couple hours later when he woke, alone in the bed, a faint light hinting that she was out in her living room. Slipping on his boxers, he quietly made his way out of her room and down the hall. The vision of her sitting at her kitchen table stopped him dead in his tracks. She was everything. He took advantage of the fact that she hadn't noticed him yet. He leaned against the wall. There she sat in his white dress shirt with one knee curled up close to her body, the other leg dangling, swinging as she hunched over her laptop typing intently. She'd opened the windows and the fresh smell of rain, a comforting mix a damp earth and flowers, filled her apartment as her drapes blew lightly in the breeze.

He came up behind her, scooped her hair to one side, and kissed her on her neck.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed in a haze from the light kisses he continued to lay on her neck and shoulder. "I had an idea," she said, breathless but determined. "I _had _to write it down."

"Hmmmm, your muse has been very active tonight, huh?" Those hands of his, just the right amount of pressure and strength working her shoulders. He leaned over, his weight supported by his arms. She watched his muscles tighten, strong, defined, they threatened her focus, slowed her typing until she stopped completely.

"They're not real, Booth." He reached past her, scrolling, clicking, saving, then closing her lap top.

"Oh, I think they are." He pulled her up.

"You do?" She smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. A deep low growl escaped as his hands felt along her hips, a long smooth slide revealed to him that his shirt was the only thing she was wearing.

"Yes, I do. I'm sure of it, Bones."

"You are?" Her lips roamed along his bare chest. Her hands followed and wrapped around his back. She pulled his hips to hers with force.

"Yes," he groaned deeply from the contact. "I'm feeling very creative." He rocked her back and forth, spun her so that her back leaned against him, letting his hands wander as he moved them slowly back towards her bedroom.

They were almost there when the lights in the living room flashed momentarily.

"Muse," they both giggled.

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A/N Though he will never see it, a special thanks needs to go out to my friend Jase who, as a practicing druid, was kind enough to share his culture and lore with me for this story.

Givesup, next time the lights flicker, a flame flares up or you smell flowers right after a rain (no kidding) RUN HOME AND WRITE! It's your muse letting you know she there to inspire, enlighten, and grant you creativity.

I hope you enjoyed my little mental diversion, please leave a review and let me know your thoughts!


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